


The only good thing about finals season is the coffee shop in the library being open 24/7

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 11:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1385344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre spends a lot of time at the library during finals season and is exhausted pretty much all the time. But at least he has Courfeyrac to come home to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The only good thing about finals season is the coffee shop in the library being open 24/7

The rain, coupled with the cold wind that blew through the streets, sent shivers running up Combeferre’s spine as he made his way home from the library. Students flocked to the building, an impressive thing with thick concrete walls and enough books to keep one busy for several lifetimes, in droves, claiming tables as their own and setting up camp for several hours at a time. They left one by one, sometimes with the satisfaction of having completed all of one’s work; but more often than not there was a sense of defeat surrounding those who straggled out, headed home for a couple of hours of sleep, before doing it all again the next day.

Bloodshot eyes, and the darkened skin beneath them, hinted at the exhaustion that most students felt; they traded money for coffee at the small café located on the lower floor of the library in the hopes that it would keep them going for a little while longer. ‘We will be open 24 hours a day during the exam period!’ the sign out front advertised, the cheery nature of the message in stark contrast with the dark moods of the students waiting in line. 

Combeferre had rushed out the door earlier after pressing a kiss to the dark curls peeking out from underneath the blankets, but not before a hand reached out to grab ahold of the hem of his jacket. A sleepy groan, muffled by the mattress, brought a smile to his lips. 

“When will you be home?” Courfeyrac asked, rolling onto his back and tugging insistently at Combeferre until he was seated on the edge of the bed, leaning over him.  
Combeferre brushed hair away from Courfeyrac’s face and kissed him deeply. 

“I’ll be back later tonight,” he said, kissing him once more and getting to his feet. 

The events of that morning felt like a dream to him; the memory of Courfeyrac yawning and burrowing more deeply into the blankets pushed to the forefront of his mind, slightly hazy around the edges.

He let himself into the apartment building, grateful for the burst of warm air. His bones felt far too heavy, and the elevator took an eternity to reach the tenth floor; the walk to the end of the hallway seemed to take even longer, and he hardly had the energy to rummage through his pockets to find his keys. 

“About time,” a voice called from the kitchen as he walked into the apartment, “I was about to send out a search and rescue team.”

“You’re still awake,” Combeferre said, blearily looking Courfeyrac up and down as he stepped into the kitchen.

“I figured it was the only way we’d get to properly see each other today,” Courfeyrac smiled gently at him, stepping forward to slip the backpack off his shoulders, putting it to the side.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I had so much to do and I-”

“Not another word,” Courfeyrac cut him off, “First thing’s first, let’s get you out of these clothes, you must be freezing.”

Combeferre could only nod and allow himself to be led into the bedroom. A pile of damp clothing soon lay on the floor at his feet. He stepped across the room to the wardrobe, pulling an old shirt over his head and slipping into a clean pair of boxers.

“Get in,” Courfeyrac said, tugging the blankets back for him. Combeferre obliged, crawling under them and sinking into the mattress, letting go of all the tension that had found its way into his body during the day. A warm body was soon lying next to him, pulling him close, and he sighed as Courfeyrac’s head came to rest on the pillow next to him. 

“After tomorrow I’m done,” Combeferre mumbled, brushing his nose against Courfeyrac’s cheek.

“Good,” Courfeyrac replied, “We’ve all missed having you around.” He ran his fingers through Combeferre’s hair, still damp from the rain, and began to rub at the muscles at the base of his neck. Combeferre sighed, leaning back into the pressure, struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“I have to leave here at ten tomorrow.” 

“I’ll wake you up,” Courfeyrac whispered, pressing a kiss to his stubbly cheek, “Go to sleep.”

“Please don’t stop,” he mumbled, eyes shut tightly. Courfeyrac smiled, fingers still working at the muscles in his neck.

“Should I make pancakes in the morning?”

“Mhmmm,” the sound was barely audible, a soft vibration in the back of his throat. The lines of Combeferre’s face softened, jaw going slack, breath growing shallower as the seconds passed. A faint orange glow from the streetlights outside poured into the room, illuminating half of his face. It made him look younger, seeming to erase the bags under his eyes, evidence of the many sleepless nights and long days spent worrying about school. 

Courfeyrac watched him sleep, taking comfort in the warm breath softly tickling his face and neck, until his own eyelids grew heavy and he reluctantly allowed them to close.


End file.
